


Third Time's the Charm

by kesdax



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2018-02-07 20:57:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1913559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kesdax/pseuds/kesdax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shaw only does one night stands, three nights at most. Root makes them last.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set between _Death Benefit_ and _Beta_.

The only thing stopping Root from falling over and passing out was the wall she was currently leaning against and the Machine chattering incessantly in her ear. She was worried, Root could tell, relaying instructions so fast that Root couldn't follow them. But it was enough to keep her grounded, take her focus away from the pain and the blood. There was nothing quite like getting a six inch piece of shrapnel embedded in your side. Root steeled herself and pulled it out.  The piece of metal smeared with her blood slipped from her hand and dropped to the ground with a clatter. Root put pressure on the wound, trying to staunch the blood flow as best she could with her hand, wincing through the pain.

_Get in the cab._

It took a while for Root to comprehend; then she saw the yellow cab pull up at the entrance to the alleyway. Root stumbled towards it and got into the back seat.

"You Jones – prepaid?" said the driver.

Root nodded, as per the Machine's instructions, and hoped the guy didn't notice she was bleeding all over his cab.

Root closed her eyes. She may have lost consciousness, she wasn't sure, but the Machine informed her when she had reached her destination and Root got out of the car without thanking the driver.

_Apartment 6C._

Root glanced up warily at the apartment building.

 _You need medical attention_.

"And this is the best you could come up with?"

_The police and the FBI have your description._

So hospitals were out for the moment. Not that Root was all that fond of hospitals, and usually tried to avoid them if she could. Too many questions.

"You know she's probably not going to let me in, right?" said Root.

 _Apartment 6C_ , the Machine repeated.

Root sighed and stumbled inside. The building had no elevator so Root had to climb the stairs. Each step sent a stab of pain through her side and Root was exhausted by the time she reached the sixth floor. She knocked on the door of apartment 6C, bracing herself against the wall with one arm, the other still trying to stop the blood flow.

The door opened a crack and Root could spy the glint of a gun barrel as the light from the hallway reflected off it.

"What the hell do you want?" said Shaw, giving Root the most spectacular glare she had been witness to yet.

"I appear to be in need of a doctor," said Root as blood dripped to the floor and pooled at her feet.

"Then go to the ER," said Shaw, making to close the door.

Root wedged a foot between the door and its frame, using all her strength to keep it open. "She wants me here."

Shaw clenched her teeth, shaking her head.

"Please," Root added, and the pleading tone of her voice seemed to still the other woman.

Shaw narrowed her eyes. "Fine," she said reluctantly, "but if you try anything..."

"No tasing, I promise," said Root.

Shaw stepped back to let Root through and locked the door after her. She left Root to settle on the couch and went to retrieve a first aid kit from the bathroom. Root gingerly removed her jacket; it was positively ruined now, but she still placed it neatly over the back of the couch. Her white shirt was stained red with blood, making the injury look worse than it probably was.

Shaw’s new place was just as unimpressive as her old one, Root thought, but at least she had a home to go to at the end of the day. Root had no such safety net, only the Machine whispering in her ear, watching her every move.

Shaw returned a moment later and sat on the coffee table opposite Root. She lifted Root's shirt up, cleaning the wound slightly with a damp cloth to get a better look. Root hissed at the contact and bit her lip to stop from crying out.

"It’s not so bad," Shaw said quietly. “It’s gonna need stitches though."

Root nodded. "Do you have something for the pain?"

"Nope," said Shaw, preparing a needle and thread. Root thought the other woman looked a bit too cheerful at that. She probably deserved it though, Root thought, after everything she had done.

_Second cupboard to the right, top shelf._

Root repeated what the Machine said and Shaw glared. "Please," she added.

Shaw huffed but complied anyway, disappearing into the kitchen and returning a moment later with a bottle of vodka and two glasses. She poured Root a glass and the hacker downed it in one go, spluttering slightly as the alcohol burned down her throat.

"Can I have another please?" asked Root.

Shaw glowered but filled her glass again and watched as Root gulped this one down a little more slowly. "Ready?" she asked.

Root nodded, already feeling the alcohol at work, dulling the pain slightly, even as she tried not to flinch when Shaw inserted the needle into her skin.

"You want to tell me what happened?" Shaw asked as she worked.

"Had a run in with a relevant number," Root explained, clenching her eyes shut as Shaw knit her skin back together, tugging tightly on the needle and thread.

"This isn't a stab wound," Shaw stated.

"Dirty bomb went off," Root said, remembering the sound of the blast and the Machine screaming in her ear to run. "Nobody got hurt though." Just the number, killed by his own bomb going off too early. Not such a great loss. Witnesses had seen her fleeing the scene though, or so the Machine had informed her, telling her to keep a low profile until She could deal with the authorities looking for her. Shaw didn't look too pleased by this idea and she tugged a little harder at the stitches.

Root hissed. "Can't say much for your bedside manner," she mumbled.

Shaw paused, glaring up at Root. "You know where the door is." But she went back to stitching her up almost immediately, and the silence that filled the room was almost stifling. So Root decided to fill it.

"What are you home for on a Friday night anyway?" she asked, not that she was expecting Shaw to have a busy social life, but it was fun to have a little dig anyway. And she was nosy.

"You know it's like one in the morning, right?" Shaw said.

She didn't actually. "So?"

"This will go a lot faster if you stop talking," Shaw grumped.

Root smirked but kept her mouth shut, watching the other woman work, hands moving surely and her forehead creasing in concentration. It was nice to see the absence of an angry scowl for a change, Root thought, and she watched Shaw in fascination as she utilised her other set of skills. It wasn't as exciting as watching her with a gun, but Root appreciated the skill involved all the same.

"What?" said Shaw and that angry frown returned as soon as she noticed Root watching her.

"Do you ever get lonely, Sameen?" Root asked suddenly, her tongue loosened from the alcohol.

"Didn't I tell you to shut up?" said Shaw at the same time as the Machine admonished Root, telling her not to antagonise the other woman until she had at least finished stitching her up. Root shut her mouth.

Shaw finished the last stitch and bandaged the wound. "Keep it dry. Stitches should be able to come out in a week."

"Thank you," said Root, trying to throw some genuine sincerity into her voice, but her efforts were just met with a glare.

Root rolled her eyes and poured herself another drink. "Have a drink with me, Sameen."

"Stop calling me Sameen," said Shaw, tidying away her first aid kit.

"Fine," said Root, "have a drink with me, _Shaw_." She filled the other glass with vodka and dangled it in front of Shaw's face. Shaw scowled for a moment then took the glass, downing the drink in one go. She smirked at Root when the alcohol went down easily, but Root ignored her and refilled Shaw’s glass for her instead.

Root watched as Shaw sipped at her second drink. She could feel the alcohol thrumming through her own body, making her more light headed and, perhaps, a little more daring. But with Shaw she always liked to push, see how far she could get, and tonight was no different. Shaw started to fidget under her scrutiny and she moved to the other end of the room, sitting on the windowsill to watch the street below.

"I wasn't followed," Root assured her, although she had no real idea if she was. She had been a little out of it. But the Machine assured her she was safe.

Root quickly finished her third glass and poured herself another. Shaw frowned at her.

"It's not often that I get a night off," Root explained. If anything, Shaw's frown deepened. There was something else in her look too, but Root wondered if that was just the alcohol messing with her head. Because there was no way Shaw could be looking at her like _that_ , not with a brief look of concern sent her way. But it was gone almost as quick and Root decided she had imagined it. Of course she had imagined it.

"How long is the Machine gonna have you chasing down relevant numbers?" Shaw asked.

"Why?" asked Root, upping the playfulness of her tone. "Want to get in on the action?"

Shaw scowled and crossed her arms.

"I wasn't kidding when I said I was a big fan, you know," Root remarked and the Machine reminded her it probably wasn't a good idea to bring up her first meeting with the former ISA agent. But Root ignored Her and pressed on. "You used to do good work when you were dealing with relevant numbers."

"I do good work now," Shaw pointed out.

"But it's not nearly as fun," Root smirked and she could tell that Shaw had picked up on the unspoken _not without me_ , and she wondered if they were both thinking about Miami and that stolen jet, shared cocktails surrounded by unconscious bad guys. _That_ had been fun. But that had been over a week ago and a lot had happened since then. They had failed to kill the congressman and now Samaritan was nearly ready to come online. And Harold had disappeared, walked away from everything and everyone he believed in. But the Machine was keeping an eye on him, watching him and waiting.

"How's your leg, by the way?" Root asked suddenly.

Shaw frowned in confusion for a moment. "Fine," she said slowly and rubbed absently at the spot where Root assumed her wound must be. But Shaw shrugged off the injury and moved closer to pour herself another drink. Root reached for the bottle at the same time and smirked when their hands made contact, Root's covering Shaw's as they held the bottle together. Shaw yanked her hand away with a glower.

"You never answered my question," said Root, pouring Shaw's drink.

"Which question was that?" said Shaw, ignoring the vodka now in her glass.

"Do you ever get lonely?" Root repeated. She lifted the bottle of vodka again, it was almost half way down and most of it consumed by her and not Shaw. She was drunk, but that didn't stop her from pouring a fifth glass (or was it sixth? She thought about asking the Machine, but didn't) and watched as the clear liquid splashed against the sides of the glass. She filled it to the brim, the glass so full that she wouldn't be able to lift it without spilling it.

"Why do you care?" Shaw asked.

"Just curious." Root winked and ducked her head down to sip at the drink resting on the coffee table. She stuck her tongue out, lapping up the liquid, never taking her eyes off the other woman and making the action as sensuous as possible.

Shaw rolled her eyes, but Root noted the way her tongue darted out to lick her lips before Shaw quickly covered it up by taking a deep swallow of her drink. She finished the glass and slammed it back down on the coffee table. "No," she said, "I don't get lonely."

Root sat up, bringing the glass with her. Although it was no longer completely full, she still managed to spill some of it onto her hand. Shaw sat back down on the coffee table opposite her, nudging her empty glass out of the way.

"I think you're lying," said Root.

"And I think you're a pain in the ass," Shaw snapped.

Root smirked and downed the rest of her drink, reaching over for the bottle. Shaw grabbed it first, hiding it behind her back and out of Root's reach.

"I think you've had enough," Shaw said. "You're kind of a lightweight."

Root leaned in closer so that their lips were almost touching. "I'm not as drunk as you think I am." She knew she was pushing her luck, knew that Shaw's gun was within easy reach. But they were all probably going to die in a few weeks anyway, so what did it matter?

"You want to drink yourself into oblivion,” said Shaw, “go do it somewhere else." But her voice had lost a bit of its hard edge.

"But it's so much better with company," said Root sweetly. She put down her glass and rested her hands on Shaw's thighs, remembering a time when she had Shaw zip tied to a chair, in a similar position, albeit more vulnerable. She had been just as fascinated then as she was now, and so very disappointed that she had been interrupted.

The Machine asked her what she was doing and she wondered the same thing, wondered if she had left her sanity at the door, if she ever had it at all.

Root put pressure on the spot where Shaw had rubbed at earlier, watched as Shaw hissed in pain, but was pleased to see the tinge of arousal around the other woman's eyes; the way she swallowed like her throat was blocked.

"What are you doing?" Shaw asked hoarsely.

"Isn't it obvious?" said Root. But when Shaw didn't move, Root leaned back, trying to keep the disappointment off her face. "Something's coming, something bad," she said distantly.

"How bad?" Shaw asked and looked almost relieved at the change of subject.

"I don't think we're all going to survive it," said Root.

"The Machine told you that?" asked Shaw. "Did it ever occur to you that it might be wrong?"

"She's never wrong," said Root with more conviction than she felt.

Shaw shook her head, looking like she didn't believe it. Maybe the Machine's instruction to kill the congressman had shattered her faith. Or maybe she never had any in the first place, but either way, it was nice to see the optimism. They were going to need it before the end.

Shaw reached behind her for the vodka and drank straight from the bottle, not bothering with her glass. "Where's Finch?"

"He'll come back when he's ready," said Root, watching the way Shaw's throat moved as she swallowed.

"But the Machine knows where he is?"

"He's safe," Root assured her, a little surprised at Shaw's concern. She would have expected it from the big lug, but it looked like they were all a little lost without their leader.

Root leaned forward and prised the bottle out of Shaw's hands, replacing the lid and dropping it onto the floor.

"I don't get many nights off," Root said and she wondered if Shaw could detect the meaning behind her words, if she knew what Root was asking of her. Root really didn't want to have to spell it out.

"I kind of hate you," Shaw said in response, but her voice was softer and there was no sharpness in the way she looked up at Root.

"I think you're lying again," said Root, but she doubted it as she said it. She was tolerated, at a push, and at the moment she was pushing way past all of Shaw's boundaries.

Shaw looked at her carefully and Root could almost see the battle going on in that pretty little head.

"If we do this," said Shaw slowly, "it never gets mentioned again."

Root smiled and leaned forward. "Sounds fair."

But Shaw didn't move, remained as still as rock and Root wondered if she was backing out already. So Root leaned closer, until their lips were almost touching. She paused, waiting to see if Shaw would pull back, whip her gun out and tell Root to _back the fuck off_. But she didn't do any of those things, just dipped her eyes lower and Root took it for permission to bring their lips together.

The kiss didn't last long until Shaw was pulling away again. "You tell anyone about this and I'll kill you."

"Your bedroom talk always this kinky?" Root asked with a smirk.

Shaw scowled. "This'll go a lot better if you don't talk."

Root knew Shaw well enough by now, knew when it was best to keep her mouth shut, and she let Shaw push her backwards onto the couch.

Shaw was efficient when it came to sex. She wasted no time on foreplay, just went straight to business. But Root still tried to memorise it; the feel of Shaw's touch, the taste of her and the little noises she made. She tried to sear it all into her brain until she never forgot it, so it was vivid enough to be the last clear thing she remembered.

And when it was over, when Root was breathing heavily, covered in sweat and her side aching, she didn't want to let go. Shaw looked at her strangely then, but then clambered off her almost immediately without a word and got dressed.

"Get out," Shaw said, tossing Root's discarded clothing in her face.

"What, no post-coital cuddling?" Root asked, pulling her torn and bloody clothes on. She didn't bother to ask Shaw for a clean shirt. She knew what the answer would be.

"I don't do that sort of stuff," said Shaw. "Three nights max. at most."

"Three nights, huh?" said Root, smiling wickedly. "Then I guess I'd better save my other two for next time."

"There won't be a next time," Shaw sneered and Root tried not to flinch, tried not to think about the implications behind that, that one or both of them might be dead soon enough, even if that wasn't exactly what Shaw had been thinking.

Root finished getting dressed and brushed closely past Shaw on her way out, pausing to bring her lips close to the other woman's ear and smiling inwardly at the way Shaw seemed to shiver as her breath skimmed across her skin. "Don't be so sure of that," Root said quietly and kissed Shaw on the cheek.

She left, feeling Shaw's glare on her back as she undid the lock and slipped through the front door. The Machine hummed in her ear that it was safe, that the authorities were no longer looking for her. She had been quiet for a while and Root wondered briefly if She had orchestrated this for her, if spending the night with Shaw had been Her intention all along, one last hurrah before the world ended. But Root didn't ask.

She didn't want to know.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during _Deus Ex Machina._

"We need to go," said Root. "She says we're in danger."

Shaw looked like she was about to protest for a moment, but then she silently followed Root to the exit. She had been quiet for a while, watching Root work on the servers for the last couple of hours, more patient than Root would have expected her to be. But then again, she hadn't expected Shaw to come all this way either, not with Harold still missing.

But she had.

Part of Root still couldn't believe it, and she had to keep glancing at the other woman to check she was real, that she wasn't imagining things.

_Wait two and a half minutes then go through the door at the end of the corridor._

"Wait here," said Root, holding an arm out to keep Shaw back.

Shaw looked annoyed for a moment, her features forming into their usual scowl, but she pressed herself against the wall anyway, eyes darting about the room as if something were about to jump out at them.

"You want to tell me what you meant before?" asked Shaw. "About surviving?"

"Not here," said Root distractedly, her mind counting down the two and half minute window the Machine had given her.

"Root..." Shaw warned.

Root glanced at the shorter woman. "I promise that I'll explain everything; but right now," she paused, listening to the Machine in her ear as She told her move, "we need to concentrate on getting out of here alive."

Root gestured for Shaw to follow her and the former ISA agent didn't need to be told to take her gun out, sticking close to Root like a second shadow.

Every door in the facility required access via the security chips in their arms, so they had to go through the door one at a time.

"See you on the other side," said Root, putting her arm under the scanner and watching the light turn from ominous red to green. The door clicked open and Root slipped through. She was met with an empty corridor. Empty for how long, Root didn’t know. The Machine told her to follow it round to the left and that they should reach the loading bay within five minutes. If they met no resistance, that was.

"Come on, Shaw," Root muttered under her breath when the other woman had failed to appear after a few moments. Root was just about to rescan her own arm when the door clicked open and Shaw slipped through.

"This stupid chip is really starting to piss me off," Shaw grumbled, rubbing at her arm.

Root rolled her eyes, but she let out a sigh of relief at the sight of the other woman in all her grumping glory.

“What?” said Shaw.

“Nothing,” said Root, shaking her head. “Come on. We need to hurry.”

The Machine guided them to the loading bay safely and they found the truck where they had left it, the Decima security guard and technician still unconscious in the back.

"Are we taking the truck?" Shaw asked.

"No," said Root, tilting her head as the Machine relayed instructions. "They're watching the gate. We need to go out the way you came in."

They grabbed their stuff from the truck, stripping off their stolen security jacket and lab coat, the Machine telling Root to hurry. This time Shaw took the lead, and Root followed her out, glancing over her shoulder, expecting someone to find them at any moment. When they reached the fence without running into any security, Root almost allowed herself to believe that they were safe, that they had survived this. But then she heard a shout from behind her, and the Machine telling her to run for cover. But the bullets were already flying at that point and there was nowhere to hide.

Shaw was already through the fence when a bullet slammed into Root's arm. Shaw's head whipped around when Root let out a cry of pain.

"Go to the library," Root gasped out, "you'll find your new identities and a note explaining everything."

Shaw rolled her eyes and grabbed Root by her good arm, pulling her through the fence. "I did not cycle all the way here just to leave you now."

Shaw kept a firm grip on Root's arm as they ran, the shorter woman half-dragging Root along. They paused, hiding behind the side of a building, the both of them breathing heavily. Root clutched at her bleeding her arm.

"I think we lost them for now," Shaw said, peering round the side of the building.

"You cycled here?" said Root unable to focus on anything else.

Shaw's head snapped around. "You want to talk about this _now_?"

"Just trying to picture you on a bike," said Root with a smirk.

Shaw shook her head in annoyance and looked away. "The bridges were gridlocked, how else was I supposed to get here in time?"

"Guess you really were worried about me, huh?" said Root and tried to ignore the way her heart seemed to clench in her chest.

Shaw narrowed her eyes. "Root..." she warned, her voice low and threatening and Root knew not to push, knew that she was lucky to be alive at all.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "Come on," she added before Shaw could say anything, "She's found us a safe house."

*

The Machine didn't want them going back into the city, not with power still out and Decima watching the bridges and tunnels. They still had a few hours until Samaritan came online, but Root worried it wasn't enough, that it would be too late for Harold by then, too late for all of them.

But the Machine muttered assurances in her ear and Root trusted Her to keep them safe, to lead them into their new lives as normal, ordinary people.

Root searched the bathroom for something to bandage up her arm. It had stopped bleeding by now and when she examined it closer she realised it was barely a graze and she felt a flush of embarrassment that she had made a lot of fuss over nothing, that she was willing to stay behind and get herself caught for something that was merely a scratch. She tried not to think about the reason behind it, because there _was_ a reason why she was so willing to die tonight.

She had been trying to protect them all. It's why she had given the boys their new identities so soon, why she had told them to go and pretended it was easy, pretended her likelihood of dying increased with them by her side. She had been evasive with them just as she had been evasive with Shaw over the phone. But Shaw had called her out on it, Shaw hadn't let it go. And even though Root had been willing to lay down her life for the Machine, for them all, she had still been overwhelmed with relief that Shaw had come for her.

And perhaps some of that relief had blinded her into thinking Shaw wasn't in as much danger as her, that her likelihood of dying hadn't just increased the minute she stepped foot in New Jersey. Maybe that was why Root had been so ready to stay behind, with her bleeding arm and Shaw on the other side of the fence where it was safe.

Because the thought of Shaw dying scared her more than the thought of her own death.

Root returned to the room that was a living room, bedroom and kitchen all in one. It was a crummy apartment and she made a mental note to discuss aesthetics with the Machine at some point. Root wasn’t expecting the Ritz, but it would be nice once in a while to hide out in some place that didn't immediately make her want to shower the minute she stepped through the door.

"What are you doing?" Root asked, her forehead creasing in amusement as she watched Shaw at the other end of the room.

Shaw glanced up at her, then immediately focused back on what she was doing. "Getting this stupid chip out of my arm." Shaw had a pen knife out, blood dripping down her wrist as she tried to hack the Decima chip out of her arm.

Root moved towards her with a smirk. "Having some difficulty? Aren’t you supposed to have the hands of a surgeon?"

Shaw scowled.

"Here, let me," said Root holding her hand out for the knife.

Shaw looked at her hesitantly for a moment before handing it over and Root felt a flash of hurt at the lingering mistrust from the other woman. Root was careful removing the chip, catching it between her fingers, slick with Shaw's blood. She glanced up to find Shaw staring at her with an odd look on her face and it took a moment for Root to realise what it was. It was the same look that had been in her eyes a few weeks ago, after Root had failed to stop a dirty bomb going off and had to go to Shaw to get her side stitched up.

It was a look of reluctant arousal and Root knew an opportunity when she saw one.

The pen knife was still in Root's hand, and she pressed the tip down on Shaw's wrist, just above where the chip had been, trailing it upwards towards her elbow, not hard enough to bleed, but enough to leave a trailing white line that quickly turned an irritated pink.

Shaw grabbed her wrist before she could go any further and if anything, the look of arousal had only deepened.

"Wanna do mine?" Root asked.

"Not particularly," said Shaw, her voice gruff as she pushed Root away slightly.

Root smirked through the stinging rejection and watch as Shaw sat on the bed, wrapping her wrist up in an old dishcloth, putting pressure on it until the bleeding stopped.

"You find any bandages?"

"Nope," said Root.

“We'll pick some up when we're back in the city," Shaw said. "Which is going to be when, exactly?"

Root shrugged, leaning against the wall and glancing out of the window. "When the power comes back on. She can't see anything."

"What about Finch and Reese?" asked Shaw.

"She can't see them either," said Root. "They'll be okay," she added when Shaw's look darkened.

"They’d better be," said Shaw sternly and Root realised then that Shaw wished she was there, wished she was helping Reese and Finch, wished she was doing _something_. Except she wasn't. She was stuck here, because of Root, because she had come to save her.

"Why?" said Root suddenly without thinking.

"What?" said Shaw, glancing at her in confusion.

"Why did you come for me?" Root asked softly before she could change her mind. The Machine muttered calculations in her ear, what the odds had been on Shaw coming to her rescue. They were low, but not as low as Root would have guessed a few weeks ago and sometimes she had to remind herself how easy it was to forget that the Machine couldn't always predict the complex randomness of the human mind.

Shaw looked away, making Root think she wasn't going to get an answer, that she'd be left wondering and hoping for the rest of her life.

Eventually, her voice so quiet Root could barely hear her, Shaw said, "Finch had Reese for back-up. You had no one."

"I had the Machine," said Root.

"Doesn't count," said Shaw. "The Machine can't take out a guy about to shoot you."

Root looked away, trying not to think how close she had come to dying, how close she had come to _failing._ It could have all ended right there in that warehouse, before she had a chance to install the seven servers, and they would all have ended up dead the minute Samaritan came online. She looked at Shaw and knew she was thinking it too, how stupid she had been to think she could have been successful on her own.

"You want to tell me what the plan is?" said Shaw. "What we were doing with those servers?"

Root was grateful for the change of subject and she explained to Shaw the Machine's plan for them all to hide in plain sight, hidden from Samaritan under the guise of an ordinary life. Because that was what they had to be now.

Ordinary.

And if they slipped up, if they let their true selves show for even a second, Samaritan would find them.

"You can't tell me that's it," said Shaw, shaking her head.

But it was. That was the plan and it had already been set in motion.

"So," said Root putting false cheeriness into her voice, "last night as Sameen Shaw... Any final requests?"

Shaw looked at her sharply then, and their eyes met for the briefest of moments before Shaw turned away again, swallowing thickly. "Let me look at your arm," she said hoarsely.

Root glanced at her in surprise, but then smiled inwardly and took a seat next to Shaw on the bed, sitting so close that their knees were touching.

Shaw glared at her pointedly and inched away from her before examining the wound, one hand gripped her arm just above the injury, the other cupping her elbow. "This is barely anything," Shaw remarked, "I've had insect bites worse than this."

"I'll bet you have," Root said playfully.

Shaw scowled and let go of her arm with more force than necessary.

But Root wasn't finished playing yet, and maybe it was because she had almost died, or maybe it was because tomorrow they would both be someone else, but she felt more daring, more out of control than she had ever been. She leaned in closer until their lips were almost touching and she could feel Shaw's hitched breath as it brushed across her skin. "Remember what happened last time you fixed me up?" she asked coyly.

"Don't start," Shaw muttered. But she didn't move, just darted her eyes downwards and back up almost as quick, as if she had to force them to stay in place. "Which part of mention it never again did you not get?"

"Mention what?" said Root innocently.

Shaw clenched her jaw and turned away. She was shaking her head, but there was a smile tugging at her lips. "You're unbelievable, you know that?"

"Am I?" said Root with a flirtatious grin, but it quickly faded. “Tomorrow the world's gonna end," said Root sombrely.

Shaw rolled her eyes. "You always so melodramatic?"

Root smiled sadly. She wished she was being melodramatic. She wished everything wasn't about to change. Root looked away, looked down at her hands, her finger rubbing absently at the spot on her wrist where she could feel the Decima chip beneath her skin. She suddenly wanted it out of her, wanted it gone, this reminder of everything that was wrong with the world. She started scratching at the skin, digging her fingernails in until she bled and only stilled when a hand covered her own, pulling it away. Root looked up to find Sameen Shaw frowning at her.

She didn't get it, she didn't understand just how bad things were going to get.

The Machine chirped in her ear how much time they had left until they had to head into the city and Root knew this was her last chance, that after this they might not see each other again. That they might both be dead.

Shaw's hand was still covering hers and it was warm and familiar and safe, but Root knew how deadly it could turn if Shaw wanted it to. But that didn't stop her from leaning closer, from grabbing the back of Shaw's neck and pulling her towards her so that she could crash their lips together.

Shaw remained frozen at first, but then she was shoving Root away, a scowl deepening her features. Root had an apology hot on her lips, but Shaw spoke before she could.

"It's not going to get better, is it?" Shaw wasn't looking at her, she was looking past her somewhere and Root wondered if she was looking for the Machine, if she was thinking about Harold and Reese and whether or not they were still alive.

Root shook her head, too afraid to speak, too afraid for them all and what Samaritan might do.

Shaw looked back at her then, looked at Root like she had decided something, and the scowl fell away, her features softening into something Root wasn't familiar with but didn't want to forget. And then Shaw was kissing her and she thought, just maybe, the world wasn't ending after all.

Shaw pushed her backwards onto the bed, and instead of the frantic 'let's get this over with' feel of the first time they had done this, Shaw took her time, trailing her lips and her tongue over Root's skin as if she were trying to map it, trying to memorise every line and contour of her body, leaving Root gasping and whimpering and feeling empty inside.

But then Shaw slipped three fingers inside of her and Root had to bite down hard on her neck to stop from crying out, clenching her muscles around Shaw's hand until she didn't think she could take it anymore.

Root had her eyes shut when she came and she allowed herself to forget, for a moment, allowed herself to pretend that everything was going to be okay.

When she opened her eyes, Shaw was watching her carefully and they stayed like that for a moment, staring at each other as if they had all the time in the world. Shaw opened her mouth to say something, but the Machine chirped in Root’s ear almost at the same time.

"We need to go," said Root reluctantly.

Shaw's forehead creased in confusion, her mouth still hanging open slightly.

Root leaned up to mutter in her ear. "That's two," she said and it was almost like a promise. Then she slipped out from under the other woman and got dressed quickly, Shaw staring after her until Root tossed her shirt in her face. "Get dressed."


	3. Chapter 3

She'd done this before. The running and the hiding down side streets, blood spilling from a wound she hadn't even noticed she had until the blood dripped hot and wet onto her hands, making them slick and loosening her grip on her gun.

But the Machine was there. The Machine was always there, guiding her, keeping her safe.

_Three blocks then turn left._

Root did what she was told and when she rounded the corner she was met with the sight of an ambulance and she knew then, knew where the Machine had taken her, _who_ She had taken her to.

Root waited a beat, watched as one of the EMT's escorted a patient inside the medical clinic, then she rounded to the back of the ambulance.

She looked good, Root thought. The EMT uniform suited her, as did the stethoscope around her neck. She glanced up when she sensed Root, mouth hanging open when she recognised her and it was the first time Root had ever seen Sameen Shaw speechless.

Except she wasn't Sameen Shaw anymore.

"I appear to be in need of some medical assistance," said Root, echoing words from so long ago, gripping her arm where she had cut it.

Shaw swallowed thickly. "You know where the ER is."

"I'd rather have you," Root responded with a smirk and knew instinctively that her name was on the tip of Shaw's tongue. Root put a finger over Shaw's lips. "Not here," she muttered, shaking her head and gesturing for Shaw to get in the back of the ambulance.

Shaw clambered in the back and Root followed her, shutting the doors behind them. It still wasn't safe to talk, not here, not out in the open for Samaritan to see and hear them. The Machine told her to be careful. This was dangerous, them being here together, and Root had already slipped up once today, she couldn't afford to do it again.

"You want to tell me what happened?" Shaw said, pulling on a pair of latex gloves and examining the cut on Root's right arm.

"Had a little accident in the kitchen," Root lied. "Knife slipped."

Shaw looked at her sharply. "You and I both know you're not left handed."

Root smiled and shook her head. They couldn't do this here. Shaw clenched her jaw, but there was understanding in her eyes and she fixed up Root's arm without another word. When she was finished, her hand rested on Root's wrist, just below the bandage. It was only there for a moment before Shaw was pulling away, looking at anywhere but Root, fussing absently with the medical gear.

Root leaned forward. "Thank you," she muttered, kissing Shaw on the cheek. The other woman's eyes narrowed when Root slipped a piece of paper into her hand, but Root got out of the ambulance and was gone before Shaw could say anything.

*

Root wasn't expecting her to come, knew it was too dangerous and had already been scolded by the Machine for it. But she waited anyway. She waited well past midnight, waited longer than she should have, but then there was a knock at the door that couldn't have been anyone else and Root felt her heart thudding in her chest when she got up to open it.

She was wearing denim blue jeans and her hair was down instead of tied back and all Root could think was how strange it was to see her in anything other than all black.

"What am I doing here-"

Root tugged her into the apartment by the arm before she could finish the sentence, shutting the door and locking it behind her. Shaw straightened her jacket, glaring at Root and opened her mouth to speak.

Root interrupted her again. "Phone," she said, holding out a hand.

Shaw handed it over with a scowl and Root dropped it to the floor, stamping down on it with the heel of her shoe until the face cracked. Then she made sure all the blinds were closed and activated the audio jammer on the coffee table. She looked up to find Shaw staring at her with one eyebrow raised, a smile quirking at the corner of her lips.

"Wow," said Shaw, "and people say I'm paranoid."

"Can't be too careful," said Root. "It should be safe to talk now. Samaritan can't see or hear us."

"Doesn't that mean the Machine can't either?" asked Shaw.

"Yes," said Root and the silence in her right ear was stifling. But it wouldn't be for long, and the Machine could still warn her if someone came for them.

"What is this place?" said Shaw glancing around the apartment. It was pretty basic and Root didn't use it much, only when she needed to, when she was desperate.

"A safe house of sorts," said Root. She took a seat on the couch and gestured for Shaw to do the same. But the other woman didn't move, just stared at Root until she couldn't bear the scrutiny any longer.

"You want to tell me what's going on?" asked Shaw, "What happened to your arm?"

"Little run in with Decima," Root explained vaguely. "It's fine."

"Fine?" said Shaw. "Decima starts hunting you down and you think that's fine."

But Root didn't elaborate and she could see the tinge of annoyance creeping into Shaw's features. There was something else there too, that brief flash of concern that Root could never quite believe was actually there. And as usual it was gone before Root could look properly, before she could call the other woman out on it.

"Would you like a drink?" asked Root, changing the subject, pretending that they were normal and that Shaw was just round for a friendly chat.

Shaw looked at her, startled for a moment before finally nodding. "Yeah, whatever," she said and sat down, taking off her jacket and watching Root as she hunted through the cupboards in the kitchen. She knew there was a bottle of something here somewhere and she finally found it in the back of the cupboard underneath the sink. Root fished it out and blew the dust off it.

"Sorry, no glasses," Root said, handing the bottle of rum over to the other woman.

Shaw shrugged and took the bottle, twisting the cap off and taking a deep swig. Root sat at the other end of the couch, watching Shaw in fascination. It had been about four months since she had last seen her, since they had walked away from each other with new identities and new lives. It had been hard, harder than Root had ever imagined it would be and she had watched Shaw leaving, desperately wanting to say something before it was too late.

And now she had her chance and Root couldn’t seem to find the words she wanted to say, couldn’t find any words at all.

"Couldn't have picked me a better identity?" Shaw grumbled after a while, staring at the bottle in her hand but not drinking anything more from it.

"What would you have preferred?" said Root. "International spy?"

"I miss shooting people," Shaw said thoughtfully.

Root couldn't tell if she was joking or not. "I think you have a problem," she said playfully.

"You telling me you don't miss shooting bad guys?" asked Shaw, taking another drink.

"I shot someone this morning," said Root boastfully, snatching the rum out of Shaw's hand.

"That's just not fair," said Shaw, scowling as she watched Root take a drink, but it looked like the scowl was forced and it quickly faded into a more neutral expression.

"I think this stuff might be off," choked Root as the alcohol burned down her throat, making her eyes water. She studied the bottle but Shaw grabbed it off her again before she could look at it properly.

"Alcohol doesn't go off, it just matures," said Shaw. "Don't blame the booze just because you can't handle your drink."

"I don't think that's entirely true," said Root with a playful frown, choosing to ignore the dig.

"Whatever," said Shaw and proceeded to hog the bottle, drinking it faster than necessary, but her eyes remaining as sober as ever. “What am I doing here, Root?” she asked suddenly, locking eyes with her, making it hard for Root to look away.

Root had been asking herself the same question and she had no easy answer ready. Even the Machine had told her it was a bad idea, but she had went ahead and done it anyway. And now she was putting them both in danger just by being here. Because if her countermeasures failed, then Samaritan would find them.

Root looked away then, Shaw’s scrutiny bearing down on her like a heavy weight, the intensity of it enough to blind her and she suddenly felt rather foolish for thinking that this would be okay, for daring to pretend for even one moment that they were like normal people, that they could do this without consequences.

“I wanted to see you,” said Root quietly. “The real you. Not the persona you have to display like a mask.” She kept her eyes downcast; too afraid by what she might see in the other woman’s eyes, too afraid of the rejection she knew was coming. But what happened next surprised her, and she couldn’t breathe for a moment when Shaw’s fingers cupped her chin to lift her face up so she could look at her.

Shaw didn’t say anything, just let the bottle slip from her hands to the floor as she leaned forward.

“What are you doing?” asked Root gruffly.

“You really need me to spell it out?” said Shaw, bringing their lips together.

Root let out a startled moan, not quite sure what to do with her hands, but then Shaw was pulling away and the need Root had to be close to her, to be inside her, prompted her hands into moving and she grabbed Shaw by the hips, pulling her closer until they were flush against each other, crashing their lips together once again.

“Root,” Shaw said when the need for air caused Root to break the kiss.

“Don’t talk,” Root said breathlessly, shaking her head. _Don’t ruin it,_ she thought as she pressed her teeth into Shaw’s neck and she didn’t know if she meant herself or Shaw.

“Root, wait,” said Shaw as Root’s hands tugged at the hem of Shaw’s shirt. “Slow down.” Shaw grabbed her wrists, pulling them away and forcing Root to look at her.

“Why?” asked Root, trying to pull out of her grip but Shaw just held her tighter. “Wouldn’t you rather just get it over with?”

“What?” said Shaw, frowning up at her. “What’s wrong, Root?”

“Nothing,” said Root, but it was everything. Everything was wrong and she didn’t know how to fix it.

"I don't believe you," said Shaw. Root moved away then, stood up and put some distance between them, pinching the bridge of her nose and doing her best to hold it all together.

"What happened this morning with your arm?" Shaw asked. "Why were Decima after you?"

But Root couldn't explain, couldn't tell Shaw that things were about to get worse and not better. This was her burden alone. Hers and the Machine's.

"It doesn't matter," said Root quietly.

"I think it does," Shaw countered. "Otherwise I wouldn't be here, would I?"

"What do you mean?" asked Root.

"Come on, Root," said Shaw angrily. "You only come to me when you think the world is about to end or you’re about to die or..." Shaw suddenly clamped her mouth shut and looked away.

"Or what?" asked Root. But Shaw didn't answer her, just shook her head and turned away.

But what Shaw had said was true. Root did only come to her, like this, when things were particularly bad and neither she nor the Machine could see a way out.

"I should go," said Shaw, getting up.

Root moved to stand between Shaw and the door. "Wait. Please."

"Get out of the way, Root," Shaw ordered.

"No," said Root. "I don't think you want me to."

"You don't know what I want," said Shaw, doing her very best to move Root with her glare. But Root wasn't afraid of Shaw's glares, her bite was always worse than her bark, and she took a step forward despite the way Shaw's hands clenched into fists.

"Then show me," said Root and it was almost like a challenge, one she wasn't sure Shaw would accept. But then she did, tossing her jacket aside and shoving Root up against the door as she kissed her frantically.

Root gasped as pain jarred into her back, but it was a good kind of pain, one that left her feeling alive, left her feeling like nothing but this moment mattered. Not Decima, not Samaritan or the Machine... not anything, just _them_.

And then they were moving, Shaw guiding Root to the bedroom blindly, as they fumbled and groped each other as if they were both afraid to lose contact. Root seemed to bump into every object in the room, and she wondered absently if Shaw was doing it on purpose, but she was too distracted to care, too focused on the way Shaw's fingers seemed to burn every inch of her skin, the way her mouth felt like a vice as it clamped down on her neck and she briefly wondered when Shaw had removed half of her clothing without her noticing. Then the back of her legs hit the edge of the bed and she was falling backwards, Shaw coming down with her and Root tried not to think after that.

*

In the moments afterwards, when Shaw was still coming down from her orgasm, she had a glint in her eye, the same feral look that she had right before she shot someone. Root lay on her side and watched the erratic rise and fall of her chest as she breathed heavily, knowing what she had to do next but not wanting to move, not wanting to leave. Root trailed a finger across Shaw's collarbone, wanting to remember this moment forever.

Shaw caught her wrist, stilling her hand and staring at Root as if she could see right through her, as if she _knew_.

"I need to go," said Root, getting up and searching for her clothes.

"That's it?" said Shaw, sitting up.

"Thought you only did three nights, Shaw," said Root, smiling sadly as she pulled her pants on.

"That's not what I meant," said Shaw. "Where are you going?"

Root sighed, knowing that Shaw wasn't going to let this go, wasn't going to let her walk out of here as if everything was going to be okay.

"Decima are retrofitting Samaritan's servers tomorrow," said Root, "including the seven we tampered with. Which means..." she trailed off, pulling the rest of her clothes on.

"That Samaritan's going to find us," Shaw finished quietly.

"Exactly," said Root dismally.

"Then we have to stop them," said Shaw, looking at her fiercely.

"Yes," said Root, but not _we_. _She_ had to stop them, Root and the Machine.

Shaw looked at her carefully and Root knew she had worked it out. "Root, let me help you."

Root shook her head. "I don't think you can."

"The Machine tell you that?" she asked sullenly.

"She's never wrong," said Root.

Shaw looked away, shaking her head and Root wondered what she was thinking, what she thought about all this, Samaritan and the Machine's plan.

"You don't have to keep doing this alone, Root," said Shaw quietly. "We're a team."

"Are we?" said Root because she was pretty sure she had never been invited onto that team. At least not willingly.

"Yeah," said Shaw, "you, me... Finch and Reese. Your little band of nerds. We're a team and the Machine can't keep shutting us out."

"She's protecting you," said Root _. I'm protecting you. All of you._

"That's not going to matter if we all end up dead because you went on your own."

"Wow, Shaw,” said Root, “thanks for the vote of confidence." She tried to move away but Shaw caught her by the wrist before she could.

"Stop trying to be a martyr, Root," said Shaw, not letting go of her wrist, "it doesn't suit you."

"Stop pretending you care, Shaw," said Root, yanking her arm out of Shaw's grip, “it doesn’t suit _you_.” She was running out of time, she knew she was, and the Machine kept chirping updates in her ear, wanting to know what was going on. But Root didn't move, because Shaw was looking at her like she had just been slapped in the face.

"Is that what you think?" said Shaw, her voice low and deadly. "That I don't care?"

"Why would you?" said Root and watched as Shaw shook her head in disbelief, searching the floor for her own clothes. Every movement from the other woman was sparked with rage and she yanked her clothes on with so much force that Root thought she was going to tear them. And when she was dressed again she sat on the edge of the bed, head in her hands before she looked up at her again.

"What do you think we've been doing here, Root?" said Shaw tiredly. "This was never about three nights."

Root felt the air leave her lungs, felt like her heart was going to explode out of her chest it was beating so fast.

“I-” Root stammered. “ _What?”_

Shaw rolled her eyes. “Sometimes you can be a right idiot, you know that?” But there was no humour in her voice and she stood up, heading for the bedroom door.

Root slammed it shut, keeping her hand pressed on it firmly so Shaw couldn’t get out. “You can’t just… _what?”_

“Get out of the way,” Shaw said.

“No,” said Root.

“If you won’t let me help you, then there’s no point in me being here,” Shaw fumed. “So move.”

But Root still didn’t move, because her brain was too busy processing five sentences ago, trying to decipher what Shaw had said, if she really meant what Root thought she meant.

"Okay," she said eventually. "Help me."

"What?" Shaw snapped.

"I need your help," said Root and even though it pained her to say it, even though she knew it would put Shaw's life in more immediate danger, she said it anyway. Because she knew Shaw would have her back, knew Shaw could handle herself and whatever Decima threw at them.

"What? Just like that?" said Shaw.

"Yes," said Root.

"Fine, whatever," said Shaw. "Well move then," she added when Root remained still.

"Did you mean it?" Root asked quietly, averting her eyes.

Shaw sighed heavily. "Root..."

"Did you?" Root snapped her eyes back up to look at her and this time Shaw was the one to look away.

"You know, for someone who has an all-seeing supercomputer on speed dial, you're pretty clueless."

"Well you’re not exactly the easiest person to read, Sameen," Root snapped.

Shaw cleared her throat, shrugging nonchalantly. "So are we going to stop Decima or what?" she asked when Root still hadn’t moved.

"Yes," said Root even though her heart was tinged with fear. "Let’s go stop Decima."

Shaw smiled at her then, that feral glint returning to her eyes for a different reason, and Root knew then, knew what the Machine had meant about there being hope at the bottom of Pandora’s box.

Root followed Shaw out of the bedroom. "Does this mean your three night rule is off the table?" she asked playfully.

Shaw rolled her eyes. "Can we just focus on _not_ dying first?"

"Whatever you want, Sameen," said Root with a smile.


End file.
